5: The Power of Darkness and Fear
by Nothing Really Specific
Summary: World War II grips both Europe and Narnia in this historical fiction AU. As a boy searches for his father, he is transported to a frozen Narnia during the reign of Caspian. While everyone suspects the return of the White Witch, a new threat emerges. Meanwhile, a Russian POW attempts to escape from Auschwitz and a rouge Russian officer protects a family from Joseph Stalin's forces.


**_The Power of Darkness and Fear_**

**Note: Some of the events of this story are based in truth. That being said, take it with a (very large) grain of salt.**

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"Because he loves me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him;

I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

He will call on me, and I will answer him;

I will be with him in trouble,

I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life I will satisfy him

and show him my salvation."

-Psalms 91: 14-16

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**Prologue: The Justification of the Means**

**_The People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs (NKVD) Headquarters_**

**_St. Petersburg Division_**

**_December 1st, 1934_**

"Send in Commissioner Medved please." said Sergei Mihaylov.

"Yes sir." said Isidor. "How do you want him presented?"

Sergei stood from his desk chair and waved cigar smoke away from his face. Placing his hands on the visibly warped desk, the Executive of the Secret Police stared directly at his underling's collar so that when he sneered it wasn't too personal.

"As degrading and humiliating as possible." Sergei said, placing a very thick Sobranie cigar in his mouth. He took a drag, letting the fumes get into his system before exhaling like St. George's dragon: smoke, no fire, too yellow to be fierce, but daring enough to cause fear. The perfect display of power in a single puff of cigar smoke.

Isidor nodded and headed towards the door. The silver doorknob squeaked as he turned it, its voice silenced by the door and Isidor's swift stride out.

On Sergei's desk lay a manila folder labeled "Phase I". Opening it, Sergei felt the weight of ten thousand pounds come down on his chest. Even though he had seen the contents of the folder, mostly photographs, he still couldn't control the urge to be human. He resumed his chair and individually examined each photograph, hoping to find some sort of justification for the means.

There was a photograph of a man in a red polo shirt and fall jacket. He had a well defined mustache and beard as well as massive ears. His eyes stared into the camera as if he had nothing left to live for, as if the world was now occupied by an alien race who's only ambition was annihilation. He had no political party affiliation and had no reason to be involved. An innocent fly caught in an unforgiving spider's web. On the back was a date, October 5.

Another was of a grieving mother who had just witnessed the death of her last child. Her face was chiseled into eternal mourning for herself, her country and her husband, who had been detained in Black Dolphin Prison three weeks before this photograph. She wore a white button up shirt and a black overcoat. Her hair was combed and presentable, for she always did this out of habit- for the University of Donetsk required professionalism. She had no political party affiliation and her only sin in the world was being a professor. On the back was a date, August 28.

A man of respectability and service hadn't a speck of fear as he was branded a counter-revolutionist. His posture was honorable, his eyes were clairvoyant, his mind was clear. The only sin he committed was being in service to God. On the back was a date, August 14.

A child of thirteen, a man of seventy-four, a woman of twenty-eight, a priest, a writer, a farmer, a Bolshevik political official, a ditch digger, a fisherman and a poet. All of them immortalized in fear and destruction and all in purview of The Red Banner.

Isidor knocked at the door. "He's here sir."

Sergei closed the folder and placed it to the side of his desk before grabbing a tissue and dabbing his eyes a bit. He didn't cry, but he just wanted to make sure. He discarded the tissue in the garbage can.

"Come in." He said.

Isidor opened the door and stood to the side, allowing Commissioner Feodor Medved to walk into the room. Wearing the uniform of his position and carrying an off white piece of paper in his hand, Medved boasted a tranquil face as Isidor closed the door behind him and blocked it. Sergei stared at him, giving an accurate impression of why he called him in.

"Sit down Commissioner." Sergei said motioning to the vacant chair opposite him with his hand. Feodor took a seat, noticing that Mister Mihaylov was beginning to wave his cigar like a hand-held fan- back and forth back and forth. The smoke swirled like a boa, constricting the air and killing any confidence or self worth that was present.

"I suppose you know why you're here." Sergei said.

"I do," Feodor replied, "I understand my failure and I wish to hand in my resignation."

Medved handed Mihaylov the paper, detailing the reasoning as well as giving a clairvoyant explanation as to why there was no justification for the means. Sergei scanned the letter once, twice and a third time. To his right was a blue Stipula fountain pen. The gold nip had a bit of tarnish but other than that, the pen was a sound instrument of business. Sergei reached for the pen and underneath Medved's name below the words 'Sincerely Yours' he signed his name large enough for Joseph Stalin himself to be able to read it.

Sergei placed the pen to its original position, looked towards Feodor with all the sincerity in the world. "I suggest that you pack your belongings and head to Switzerland, Mister Medved."

"Why Switzerland sir?" Medved asked.

Sergei stood up, folded Medved's resignation letter and handed it to him. "Switzerland is the last place Stalin would look for you." He motioned for a small drawer to his left, opening it and producing a Nagant M1895 revolver and one 7.62x38mmR ammunition cartridge. He loaded the bullet in the chamber and turned the safety off.

"Don't worry Feodor, it's nothing personal." Sergei said. "It's just business."

Medved stood from his chair, placed the letter in his inner coat pocket and straightened his uniform. The belt was resituated to line up with the buttons of the coat as well as the zipper of the pants. He placed his hands by his side lining up with the seam after he straightened his name tag as well his Order of the Red Banner medal that proudly hung on the left pocket.

Isidor smiled, crossed his arms and laughed. He took pride in moments such as this, when the accused are given their sentence and pronounced guilty. His mind began to wander, thinking of the yarn he would spin when telling this story. _The Greatest Era of the Russia began with the trial, conviction and execution of Commissioner Feodor Medved, head of security for that son of a bitch Kirov._

Sergei raised his pistol.

"Any last words?" Isidor asked.

Medved said nothing. He did not even blink as Sergei applied pressure to the trigger. He did not twitch his eye when the gunpowder exploded and Newton's third law of motion took over, sending the bullet through a grooved barrel. There was however, a bead of sweat that trickled down the left side of his face as the bullet exited and headed towards his left side at approximately 1,700 mph and a sigh of relief as Isidor Dalca slowly fell to the floor dead.

"I suggest that if you want to live," Sergei said, "then you get yourself to Switzerland."

Feodor nodded slowly. Looking back at Isidor, he had a mixed emotion of remorse and guilt. He walked over to the poor soul, kneeled down and closed his eyes. He sighed, it was long, deep and mournful.

"How many more must die like this Sergei?" He asked.

"Until Stalin bleeds and dies." Sergei replied as he grabbed his pistol, all of the ammunition for it, his pen and the manila folder of photographs and made his way around to desk quickly. Even though he had nothing to fear he felt as if he had assassinated Czar Nicolas and felt guilty about it.

"Now," he said, "get yourself to Switzerland."

"What about you?" Medved asked as he quickly pushed Isidor's body out of the way.

"I have bigger problems to deal with than the execution block." Sergei replied, "Besides, he was expendable anyway. I could always make something up saying that he was attempting to assassinate me. I'll be fine. You my friend need to get out of the country."

Medved nodded and placed his hand on the doorknob, "Why are you doing this?"

"Sergei," Feodor said, "calm yourself."

Sergei took a breath and motioned for Feodor to open the door. He did so and they walked down the hallway, Mihaylov didn't even bother to shut the door. Instead, he just kept on walking.

"What are you going to do, I mean I know you have nothing to worry about, but won't there be suspicion somewhere?" Feodor asked as they passed a women's restroom.

"I have relatives near Moscow," Sergei said, "they own a small estate. I'll go there for a few months if need be. For now, I'll see about turning this fiasco around. Now, catch a train, go to Switzerland. Contact me when you get there."

Feodor nodded. "Of course but, you still didn't answer my question, why are you doing this for me?"

Sergei sighed and stopped walking. He knew his reasoning but he also knew that he was being a hypocrite in some circles and a crazy fool in others. He turned towards Medved, looked into his eyes and said words that a certain mutual friend said hours before: " Leonid Nikolayev"

Medved's heart skipped a beat. Someone who wasn't even there to witness it knew the last words of his comrade, Sergey Mironovich Kirov. He reached out his right hand, Sergei shook it.

"Be safe Sergei Mihaylov. God knows you need it." Feodor said. They ceased the handshake but they didn't let go as a mutual sign of respect.

"The same comrade, I'll create a diversion long enough for you to get to at least Vienna." Sergei said.

"I'll make arrangements." Medved said. He released the grip and smiled a bit. "Thank you sir, you saved my life."

Sergei nodded quickly and motioned for him to leave. Without a moment's delay Feodor left the building and by seven o'clock that evening was in Eastern Poland.

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**Author's Note: **

All of the chapters will be relatively short. This is to keep ideas concise and coherent. I have the tendency to go on tangents if I write longer chapters and loose the theme of the story.

Sorry for any inconvenience.


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